


every move, a sweet surprise

by merthurlin



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, fatt rare pair swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurlin/pseuds/merthurlin
Summary: Samol needs to learn how to dance before his sons' wedding. Luckily, the Hitchcook Dancing School offers expert tutelage.





	every move, a sweet surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirl_squee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/gifts).



> written for fangirl_squee for the rare pair swap!! hope you like it!

The  _ Hitchcock Dancing School _ didn’t look like much from the outside. Despite its placement in Chrysanthemum Parish, it stood apart from the gold and varnish of the surrounding buildings, as if it were keeping to itself. A simple brickstone building, with only one sign to designate itself as a dancing and dueling school,

That was just the way the Hitchcocks liked it - not too shabby but also not eye-catching, respectable enough to get customers but not too much as to be on the rader, so to speak.

“Edmund, you got a new client,” Aubrey called from the reception area. She wasn’t technically working there, but her lab was getting some heat after an.... Unfortunate accident involving some explosions and damaged property, so she was doing some part time jobs for them until things settled down. Of course, she first had to swear up and down that none of her experiments would happen in the vicinity of the school, but Edmund was sure - well, reasonably sure - that they were good for awhile before her hands started getting the twitch that would signal things were  _ not  _ going to be good from now on.

“Great, tell them to sign up for whatever group fits their availability and experience level,” he called back, not looking up from the paperwork on the desk in front of him. He hated the stuff, but lord knows Ethan was certainly not going to do it.

“He wants private lessons,” and that was enough to raise Edmund’s head. Sure, they offered private lessons, but most people weren’t confident enough - or rich enough, frankly - to take them. Edmund couldn’t even remember their last private -

Oh, no, wait. He sure could - the broken nose he gave Thackeray was a sweet, sweet memory he will never forget.

“Hang on,” he called, before stuffing all of the paper into the drawer (maybe he could blackmail Ethan to do it,  _ just this once _ ), and standing up, walking towards the reception area. Aubrey was, as usual, sitting on the desk rather than behind it like a normal person, despite how many time Edmund told her to at least pretend to be a professional, but for once he didn’t even think of scolding her, his attention caught up by the man standing in front of her.

He wasn’t very tall or imposing - a pretty lean build (excellent for a dancer, noted the part of Edmund’s brain that always looked for that sort of stuff in anyone they came across), average height, dark skin. But there was  _ something  _ about him…

Maybe it was the way he looked like he 1000% did  _ not  _ want to be there. 

“Yes, hello! Welcome to the  _ Hitchcock Dancing School _ !” Edmund announced, walking up to them. “We are Marielda’s best dancing school that you’ve never heard of.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Yes, I read your yelp page.” His voice was gravely and deep, and despite himself Edmund could feel a shiver snaking up his spine. 

Ethan used to laugh at him, saying he has a type, and while Edmund would have liked to refute his twin, the evidence here really was stacked against him.

Edmund gave him his best sunny smile, the one that was carefully cultivated over years of shitty retail work and customer service. “Always great to have a well-informed customer! So how can I help?”

It did not seem like the smile had any effect at all, since the man looked like he barely held back a very annoyed sigh. “Your receptionist - Aubrey, was it? - had it all in one: private lessons.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Edmund clapped his hand together. “What sort of dancing are you interested in? Have you had any previous experience?”

“No experience, and whatever would be appropriate for a wedding.”

Edmund could feel himself falter for a second. Oh, fate wouldn’t be so cruel - “You’re getting married, then? Congratulations.”

The man snorted. “Hardly. My sons’ wedding.”

“Your sons… are marrying each other?” Edmund said, only slightly incredulous. He has heard weirder things, probably.

“They are not related to  _ each other _ ,” and that was only slightly scandalized, which is way better than Edmund usually got.

“Aw, you want to learn to dance so you can dance at your sons’ wedding? That’s very sweet,” Aubrey interjected. 

“They said they would disown me if I didn’t.”

“Disown you? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“You don’t know them like I do,” he snorted again. “What is this? Do you interrogate all of your customers before taking their money?”

Edmund stopped himself from replying ‘only the hot ones,’ but only barely. Wouldn’t do to scare the costumer off, after all.

“So, some private ballroom dancing lessons for beginner level, yes?” he nodded at Aubrey to write it down. “What’s your timeframe?”

“The wedding is in a month.”

Edmund winced. That was not ideal, but - he has done miracles with less, if he dared say so himself. He was up for the challenge.

“Oh!” Aubrey suddenly exclaimed, pausing from typing. “Sorry, I completely forgot - your name?”

“Samol.”

\---

Their first lesson was scheduled already on the very next day - they didn’t have any spare time, after all. Edmund arrived bright and early at the studio, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top (and if those were his least dirty sweatpants and tank top - well, nobody had to know.  _ Especially not Ethan _ ). He gave Aubrey the day off - they didn’t have any other groups scheduled for the day, and with how uncomfortable Samol looked yesterday, he would rather have no one else around for this. 

He really didn’t like how his inner voice sounded a lot like him, and thus a lot like  _ Ethan _ .

He started his day just like any other; some light stretches followed by some freeform dancing. He went with ballet, today - he liked to go back to his basics, from time to time, and there was nothing quite like ballet to get his body moving.

Edmund wasn’t passionate about dancing, but it was the same way people weren’t passionate about breathing - he didn’t think of it as something to be passionate about, because for him it simply was something he had to do. That didn’t mean he didn’t invest time and effort into it, of course, but it was never something that taxed him, never something he had to think very hard about. He knew it wasn’t the same for Ethan, who liked dancing well enough but never lived it the way Edmund did, and he was grateful for his twin who was never fussed about following Edmund in this path, never offered the try something else.

There was a universe where they each went a separate road, but that universe must be a miserable place indeed.

The point is that when Edmund danced, just for himself, without audience or fanfare or any style expected, he tended to lose himself in it. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se, certainly people got addicted to worse vices, but it did mean that when Samol finally made it into the studio, he was in the middle of a pretty complex Grand Adage, his muscles straining, his mind carefully blank.

“I hope you don’t expect me to pull that.” 

The unexpected voice from the entryway throw him off his balance and he stumbled, only years of experience and exercise preventing him from completely toppling to the floor. He span around, although he could already tell by the voice that it was Samol - it was a pretty distinct cadence, after all.

“Ah, my apologies, it seemed I’ve lost track of time.” He noted with approval that Samol headed his instructions yesterday, and was wearing loose fitting clothes. As much as it was not personally productive for himself, it was much better for the kind of stretches they are going to be doing today.

“You’re pretty good,” Samol said. It wasn’t even a compliment, not the way he said it - just a dry observation, a fact he declared to the world. Edmund decided to take it as one anyway.

“Thank you,” he replied, making his way to the bench to wipe off the sweat he managed to work up. “You can place your things here, we’ll start right away.”

Over the next hour, Edmund came to the conclusion that Samol wasn’t completely incompetent, but he had about the same motivation of a high-schooler told to do his math homework. Every one of Edmund’s instruction was met with a quiet sigh and a badly-concealed eye-roll, and after about an hour, Edmund had enough.

“If you dislike dancing so much, can’t you just tell your son - sons, whatever - that? I mean, they must know it isn’t exactly your idea of a good time. I don’t see the point in you torturing yourself with this.”

Samol - who barely worked up a sweat, even after almost an hour of stretching exercises, damn him - raised an eyebrow at him. “What kind of a teacher are you, trying to convince your student to quit after only one hour?”

Edmund shrugged. “I can tell you aren’t enjoying it. Besides, you’ve paid in advance, whatever you do with your time is your decision.”

Samol looked… awkward wasn’t the right word, men with Samol’s presence couldn’t look awkward, but… uncomfortable. “I need to do this. It… doesn’t matter why, but I need to. It would disappoint them, otherwise.”

Edmund didn’t have any children of his own, nor was he planning on it, and so couldn’t really relate, but he could sympathize. Disappointing family members was a fear he was well-acquainted with, after all.

“Then trust me. If you follow all of my instructions, we will get you there. I promise you. That’s what you pay me for.”

“I don’t understand why we need all of this stretching regime. I’m only going to be dancing one time, it isn’t going to be a regular event,” Samol grunted, crossing his arms.

If only Edmund got paid every time a student of his grouched about stretching exercises. “It’s important, that’s why. You don’t want to accidentally pull a muscle or do any damage to your body.”

Samol snorted at that, unamused, but aqcuised. “Alright, alright, fine. Let’s get it over with.”

He was slightly less tense after that exchange, and seemed slightly more amicable to follow Edmund’s instruction, even if it was always accompanied by a heavy dose of eye-rolling. Edmund would take it, though.

\---

Their next lesson went much better. Edmund didn’t know if Samol internalized their earlier conversation or what, but he seemed to be in a much better mood, even cracking a joke or two. Edmund was charmed, despite himself. Samol was prickly, and pretty rude, but it was clear he loved his sons, enough to subject himself to something he clearly did not enjoy.

“When are we going to get to actual dancing?” Samol asked, disgruntled. They were taking a break for a few minutes, a chance to catch their breath and take a sip of water. Edmund was sitting on the bench, trying very hard not to stare at Samol’s sweat-drenched form. The man might be pushing sixties, but nobody told his arms that. 

“Hmm…” Edmund usually won’t start with actual moves this early on, without installing some sort of basic work ethic in his students, but they  _ were  _ on a pretty tight schedule. “I suppose we could start today, as long as you are going to practice this routine outside of class.”

“Am I getting homework, now?”

“If that’s what you want to call taking care of your body, sure.” Edmund barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Fine.”

“Great! Then yes, we can start looking at some basic dance moves today.” He stood up from the bench and walked to the centre of the room. “We’ll start with the box step. It can be performed individually, but since I assume you are not going to tear up the dance floor alone, it’s usually done with a partner. The rhythm varies, but the most common form is in waltz dancing. Like this-” And Edmund performed the step, taking care to go slow and enunciate every move. 

“Seems simple enough,” Samol said, his eyes tracking Edmund’s every move. Edmund didn’t need an audience to perform, per se, but it always felt different when he knew someone else was watching. With Samol in the room his movement felt heavier, somehow, with full awareness of Samol’s gaze on him. He swallowed, his throat dry.

“It is,” he coughed out, and gestured at Samol to join him. “Now, I should know: does your partner prefer to lead, or be led?”

“My what?” Samol gave him a strange look, and Edmund could feel himself flush despite himself.

“Your, wife? Husband? Whoever it is you will be dancing with, at the wedding.”

Samol snorted. “Got nothing like that.”

Edmund could hear Ethan’s voice in the back of his head, hollering enthusiastically, and did his best to ignore it. “O-oh? So who will you be dancing with then?”

“Samot and Samothes, I suppose. My sons,” he clarified at Edmund’s confused look. 

“Ah, of course,” Edmund quickly got over himself, and back on track. “So would  _ you  _ prefer to lead, or be led then? Both positions take about equal skill, despite what popular misconceptions might have led some to believe.”

“I have been known to enjoy both, at different time.” Holy shit, was that flirting? Edmund was a pretty good judge of character, most of the time, and he had an uncanny ability to sniff out lies (something Aubrey liked to complain about constantly), but Samol’s face hardly changed as he said that, and despite this being the third time they met, Edmund still had a hard time reading him.

But that - that must have been flirting, right? Right?

“I- I see. Well, we can start with me in the lead, just to get you comfortable in the position.” Surely that didn’t sound as suggestive as it felt. “And then we can see.”

“You know best, teacher,” Samol replied, his eyes not leaving Edmund’s. “How do you want me?”

_ Fuck _ . That was almost definitely flirting.

“One hand on my shoulder,” Edmund instructed. “The other in my hand - no, like this.”

Oh, this was a mistake. This was a huge, colossal mistake, because somehow, despite having more than 20 years of dancing experience, about ten of those also teaching experience, Edmund failed to account for the fact that teaching Samol how to dance meant having to touch him, and be touched in return - to feel his calloused skin in his hand, to have his heavy presence almost suffocating. Being this close, he could smell his cologne, somehow still preservering even after an hour of physical exercises, an earthy scent that seemed to fit this man. He could feel himself flush,  _ again _ , and he thanked every god he didn’t believe in for Ethan being away on an errand, and Aubrey being busy, so that he didn’t have any audience for how mortifying he must look, blushing like a schoolboy with his first crush.

Luckily, Samol either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he simply slided into position, waiting for Edmund’s next instruction.

The next half an hour or so was an exercise in self-restraint for Edmund, who was more than aware of Samol’s proximity. It was only Edmund’s experience that saved him, a decade of teaching brats and apathetic adults in ungodly hours of the morning that allowed him to switch to autopilot, his body knowing all the move even while his brain seemed stuck in a loop of skin-smell- _ god how are his eyes so green _ .

They went through a couple of more steps - a variation on the box step for both waltz and tango, and a quick overview of Chassé, afterwhich Edmund called for a stop for the day.

“The next meeting we can repeat this the other way around, with you leading. This will give you a greater versatility at the wedding, if you decide you wanted to dance with more people than just your sons.”

Samol actually  _ laughed  _ at that, a rumbling thing that seemed to shake Edmund from inside, despite them not even touching yet. “Probably no danger of that.”

“You never know!” Edmund gave him a winning smile, hoping it didn’t look as shaky as he felt. “After I’m done with you, I’m sure your dancing moves will attract even the coldest of hearts.”

Samol gave him another unreadable look, his laughter subsiding. “I’ll hold you to that.”

\---

Their third, fourth, and fifth meetings all followed the same pattern. Edmund would usually arrive early to get some practice in. Samol would either catch him unaware, or he wouldn’t. Either way, Edmund always made sure to show off a bit, making some moves that were not strictly about stretching (or even about dancing - it was an endless source of pride for him to have a better ass than his twin, and he might as well use it).

This would then be followed by Samol stretching and Edmund trying not to stare too unprofessionally, followed in turn by practicing previously learned moves. Then they would move on to learning that day’s move, and finally culminate in some extra stretches.

This cycle would be accompanied by some grouching from Samol, some flirting from Edmund, and some probably maybe-maybe not flirting from Samol in turn. But it also involved a surprising amount of stories from Samol. After his initial reluctance faded, he started to share more - tales about backtracking across Ordenna, memoirs from interning at the New Archives, vivid retellings of myths and legends from around the world. It seemed almost too much for one person to have done in the span of mortal life, tales so fantastic they boggle the mind, but somehow Edmund couldn’t find himself to doubt the other man. 

Although, really, that story about Samol domesticating wolves in the wild has got to be a wild exaggeration.

Most of all, though, Edmund was charmed by the way Samol talked about music. Dancing, he might not have been a fan of, but music? He could talk for hours about the different genres, evolution of instruments and play styles, different across continents and time. Edmund didn’t know much about music beyond what was necessary for dancing, but he could tell Samol was an expert, and there was something magnetic about him when he talked about it. Or, rather, something even  _ more  _ magnetic than usual. Edmund wasn’t above admitting he would probably be attracted to Samol just reading the phone book.

\---

“How is your new student, then?” Aubrey asked him a few days later. Edmund wouldn’t mind that, as much, if Ethan wasn’t also right there, helping to close up after a full day of intermediate level groups.

“ _ What _ new student?” he asked, intrigued. Edmund groaned.

“No one, just some guy who needs some lessons before a wedding.”

“ _ Private _ lessons,” Aubrey informed Ethan, much to Edmund’s chagrin. “And the guy is exactly Edmund’s type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Edmund objected, but he was drowned out by Ethan’s: “What, older, gruffy, handsome? Tell me  _ everything _ .”

“I hate you both,” Edmund muttered as Aubrey started laughing.

“Aw, brother, don’t be mad that we got your number. It’s not our fault you are predictable,” Ethan grinned, leaning on the counter. “Now, really, spill.”

“He  _ is  _ very handsome,” Edmund admitted. 

“And rich, if he can pay for private lessons,” Ethan added, before elbowing Edmund. “Sounds like you got the whole package!”

“He also,” Edmund interrupted, “Has two kids, who apparently are getting married? I don’t really have the whole story.”

“To… to each other?” Ethan blinked, and then shrugged. “Eh, heard weirder.”

“That’s what I thought,” Edmund nodded. “Still,  _ kids _ .”

“He’s a DILF, so what?”

“Aubrey!” both Edmund and Ethan exclaimed, scandalized. She gave them an unimpressed look. “What? He  _ is _ .”

“Please don’t call our clients DILFs,” Edmund said, pained.

“I’m not calling  _ our  _ clients DILFs, just yours,” Aubrey replied, unperturbed. “Besides, no one says you have to marry the guy, just have some fun!”

Edmund gave her a look. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who has been crushing on Sige Coleburn for the last two years.”

Aubrey blushed. “That - that has nothing to do with this.”

“Listen,” Ethan interjected, “The point is that he is hot, and you have my face so you have that going on for you, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I lose a very good client?” Edmund crossed his arms.

“Who is only going to be your client for one more week,” Aubrey remarked. “The wedding is soon, right? And unless he discovered a sudden passion for dancing…”

Edmund snorted inelegantly. “Not exactly, no. However, he has discovered some very creative ways to ridicule it.”

“Sounds like a charmer.” 

“He has his moments,” Edmund replied, thinking about Samol’s surprisingly jovial laughs, his devotion to his family, his large and calloused hands. It wasn’t that Edmund wasn’t aware Samol was a prick, but it wasn’t all he was - and behind his gruffiness and annoyance was someone that Edmund might not be so opposed to get to know better.

And not just in bed, as Aubrey was suggesting.

“Ah, my brother, the hopeless romantic,” Ethan sighed, but the shade of a smile played on his lips. 

\---

Their last lesson started less than ideal. For once, Edmund was running late - the train he usually takes to work seems to have been diverted, and he had to wait over thirty minutes for the next one. It didn’t help that halfway through it started to rain, leading to a very hurried and very wet Edmund sprinting past the reception and into his studio, shouting a greeting to Aubrey over his shoulder. 

Samol was already there, and was, Edmund noted with approval, in the middle of their stretch routine. Edmund gave himself a second to appreciate, before entering the room.

“I’m terribly sorry for running late,” he apologized, placing his bag on the bench and twisting his face in displeasure at the water puddle it immediately formed. “It seems like public transportation wasn’t on my side today.”

Samol paused in his routine and scrutinized him. “Is it ever?” he snorted. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Edmund laughed. “I think I saw a few of those, on the way. Give me a second, I’ll change into my stage outfit.”

Samol raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you actually performed.”

“What, didn’t think I was good enough?” Edmund teased good naturedly, which is why he was surprised at the serious look on Samol’s face. “Nah, you are definitely good enough. Just didn’t think you were interested in the limelight.”

Edmund froze imperceptibly. He didn’t think he was quite that transparent. “What makes you think that?”

Samol snorted again. “Please, even if I don’t enjoy dance, it doesn’t mean I don’t know talent when I see it. You could be dazzling on the brightest stages of the world, and instead you are here, teaching brats and ungrateful adults how to not make fools of themselves. Not to mention the illegal smuggling business you and your brother have going out back.”

Edmund didn’t even have the time to take in the compliment in the first half of that speech, before the second half hit him full force. How the hell did he-

“How the hell did you-” he began to ask, before being cut off by Samol.

“You two - three, I think your receptionist is involved too - are good, but I had my fair share of illegal activities. I know a con when I see one.” Samol shrugged. “I don’t know all the details - haven’t quite figured out what you smuggled, yet, but it isn’t really any of my business.”

Edmund laughed, nervously. “So, what? You figured out your dancing studio was doing illegal smuggling and, instead of calling the police and finding a new dancing teacher, you just decided to ignore it?”

Samol shrugged. “Would have been a pain in the ass to find a new teacher. And, like I said, it was none of my business.”

Edmund just stared at him for a moment, incredulous. It wasn’t that he and Ethan didn’t have contingency plans in case someone ever found out, it was just that he never quite expected someone finding out and then very emphatically not caring. It should have been a relief, but Samol’s almost dismissive attitude stung, for some reason.

“Information,” he said, almost involuntarily.

“What?” 

“That’s what we smuggle. Information.”

“I see,” Samol hummed, but Edmund could see a flash of surprise on his face. It felt good, somehow. “Figured out it wasn’t drugs, but information - huh. So you are  _ sophisticated  _ smugglers.”

“We try,” Edmund muttered. He was distracted for the past few minutes, but he was suddenly violently aware of how cold he was, standing in the large studio in his dripping clothes. He shivered.

“Go put on your performance outfit before you catch your death.” Samol clearly noticed.

“Yes, I suppose it would be annoying if I died and you had to find a new teacher a week before the wedding,” Edmund replied sarcastically, but moved to the attached changing room, where his outfit was stored in his locker.

It wasn’t anything fancy - white tights,  [ a blue military jacket accented with gold ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/52/83/1d52838b526fa726494b584afe0a1580.jpg) . Ballet shoes, of course. He didn’t wear it often - Samol wasn’t wrong when he noted his dislike for actually performing on stage - but he liked it well-enough.

Samol seemed to like it too, going by his longer-than-usual stare as Edmund re-entered the room. Edmund allowed himself to preen, just a bit.

“Damn,” Samol grunted. “You sure clean up nice.”

“I always clean up nice,” Edmund sniffed.

“Wouldn’t know that from the ratty sweats you keep wearing,” Samol replied. “You wear this often?”

“No,” Edmund admitted. “You weren’t wrong, before. I don’t really enjoy performing. That’s much more Ethan’s speed. But it does feel nice, sometimes. And it can bring in new clientele, so we stage a little production, every once in awhile, just to keep people flowing.”

“Easier to hide illegal activities with a steady influx of new people around.”

“That too,” Edmund smiled at him. “Shall we get started? We are already running behind.”

Much to Edmund’s relief, the lesson went much more smoothly than their initial conversation. Edmund wasn’t a stranger to feeling proud of his students - he was a teacher, that was part of the gig - and as he and Samol finished their last practice run of a basic waltz, there was certainly a lot to be proud of.

“Well?” Edmund grinned, his breathing slightly labored. “Ready to see if I held up my promise?”

“What promise?” Samol was also slightly out of breath, but like always, didn’t look disheveled at all.

“To improve your dancing skills to the point that you dazzle all the attendants of the wedding, of course.” Edmund reached to his bottle of water on the bench and took a swig. “It’s in two days, right?”

“About that…” Samol was almost… fidgeting, still standing in the middle of the room, his eyes absolutely not focusing on Edmund. He didn’t think he had ever seen Samol looking so uncomfortable.

“Yes?” he promoted, when it didn’t look like Samol was going to continue.

“Does your studio provide extra… services?”

Edmund frowned, confused. “Like what?”

“Escort.” 

Edmund just stared at Samol. “Are you - are you asking me if we provide-”

Clearly Samol realized where Edmund was going with that, because he cut him off with a frown. “Oh, not like that, don’t jump to conclusions. I need a plus one for the wedding.”

“Oh,” Edmund calmed down, before fully comprehending. “Ohhhh. Wait. Why? Surely you can just go on your own.”

“My sons are trying to  _ highly  _ discourage me from doing just that,” Samol rolled his eyes. “Normally I wouldn’t care, but it is their wedding.”

In the part of his brain that wasn’t screaming, Edmund reminded himself to feel charmed by that later on. 

“And you’re asking me if you could… pay for one of us to come with you?” he asked, trying to clarify.

“Are you making this even more embarrassing than it needs to be on purpose?” Samol asked back, irritated.

Edmund waved his hands. “No, no, absolutely not. Just trying to understand.”

Samol sighed and crossed his arms. “I’m asking you, Edmund Hitchcock, if you would come to my sons’ wedding  for an additional fee.”

Edmund blinked, very slowly. When that didn’t help, and Samol was still standing there with an annoyed look on his face, he replied. “You do understand that you don’t have to pay me to ask me on a date, right?”

“You really are the worst businessman in this city.”

\---

And later on, during the wedding, Samol only slightly messed up the adagio, but since it was because of Edmund leaning in to kiss him, Edmund couldn’t really fault him for that.

(However, Samot, whom Edmund found more than slightly intimidating, definitely could, and proceeded to poke fun at his dad for the rest of the night.)


End file.
